


Freaks

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-25
Updated: 2008-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser is more than a little odd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks

Fraser knows he is considered odd by many—intolerably so by some. He has always been strange. So it comes as no surprise what they think of him, all the officers of the 27th and his co-workers at the Consulate—except for Turnbull, whose oddness puts even Fraser's to shame.

It was the same for Fraser back north at all the postings he's ever held, but especially in Moose Jaw, where the bodies crowded the smaller living quarters and everyone was in constant contact. His hearing has always been extraordinary, and he caught the whispers— _What an odd duck—He's a strange one._

 __A freak.

Ray isn't the first to call him that.

When he was younger Fraser thought he could slide into the slim space they expected him to fill, or could at least could appear to, for brief periods. But now he has learned to have a strange sort of pride in the comments that follow him—not really ill intended, but loaded just the same with wariness and a little ridicule.

And the most amusing part of it—none of them have any idea how strange Fraser truly is.

They don't know each time he leaps, every time he rolls or falls or lunges headfirst, that afterward he takes pleasure in the resulting pain, in the wounds earned honestly in duty. He considers them each a small penance for his daily sins.

Though many know he enjoys solitude, none know how much he craves it; needs it. When he is alone he isn't in danger of acting as he shouldn't, or saying the wrong thing; or, if he does, there is only a deaf wolf to hear. Diefenbaker, for all he has appalling taste in poodles and junk food, is a true friend in that he doesn't judge Fraser for his oddnesses.

He has many that are secret, and some are perverse.

When he was younger, he was taught by his grandmother to cool his libido by cupping his erection with a handful of snow, a useful trick while going through puberty.

Since then, he has learned to enjoy the erotic sensation of cold. He keeps his ice-tray full for this purpose, and has sometimes spent hours stimulating himself and then easing his arousal, over and over.

But he only ever allows himself to reach completion when he is in the shower, where it's clean, and his soapy hands run smoothly over his flushed and tender skin. Afterward, it's so easy to allow the water to wash away the memory of shame and pleasure.

He has only ever seen pleasure as a danger, proven almost fatally in his encounters with Victoria. The risks of death, loss and failed duty accompany the sensual freedom he associates with his relations with her.

He irons his boxers as a chafing reminder.

When he gets angry, very angry, he writes down hateful, hurtful thoughts, digging his pen deep into the paper. And then he tears it up, and goes on.

Sometimes he doesn't write of anger, but of love and desire. He writes, "I want to taste you."

He doesn't write Ray's name, but it is always Ray he is thinking of when he writes, "I want to caress you and watch your skin flush with heat. I want to kiss you. I would put my hands on you and make you sigh, make you need me, make you beg for release."

And worse—"I would tie you to me through pleasure. Use my body for it. Use only me. Please, use me."

He burns the pages and crushes the embers into ash, until the words scatter blamelessly away.

///

At the bowling alley, they talk to an informant, a snitch of Ray's named Twoey Two Pins. Twoey is a transvestite bowler who bears an uncanny resemblance to Marilyn Monroe, were Ms. Monroe unfortunate enough to stand six foot three and weigh two hundred and fifty pounds.

Ray is grinning, the end of a sucker stick hanging from the corner of his mouth. He looks positively diminutive next to Twoey.

"So, that's the deal, Two. Fifty now, and fifty tomorrow if the deal goes down like you said."

Twoey laughs, a husky, feminine laugh, and puts her big hand on Ray's shoulder. She flutters her eyelashes at him in a deliberate flirtation. "Oh, Lenny will be there. I promise, sugar. He and that nasty bodyguard of his, so you be careful."

"I'm too pretty not to be careful," Ray says in a deadpan.

"I thought _he_ was the pretty one," Twoey says, giving Fraser a look from head to toe. Fraser feels himself flush, but Twoey is already turning back, and to Fraser's consternation, leans over Ray and gives him a quick kiss on his lips.

"You take care now, honey." Twoey says and pats his cheek.

Ray just grins and cocks his head at Fraser, gathering him to walk to the door. Fraser's feet follow, but his mind is frozen in the moment.

On the _kiss_.

"Ray...Ray, Ray, Ray," Fraser repeats, because Ray isn't waiting for him—he's already halfway to the car.

"Shake a leg there, Fraser. It's quittin' time." Ray slides into the GTO and leans over to pop open the door for Fraser. Diefenbaker, who has been banished for life from the alley thanks to an incident involving too many nachos and a bowling ball polisher, gives Ray's underarm a nudge and a petulant snuffle.

"It's your own darn fault, Dief. You're lucky Sid didn't put you through the pin spotter."

"Ray..."

"—and Jack was nice enough to get the wax out of your fur and everything—"

"She kissed you, Ray." After a moment of shocked silence, Fraser realizes how it sounded. "I mean...Ms. Two Pins—"

Ray absently ruffles Dief's fur. "Well, yeah, Fraser. Twoey's an old pal. Why, did that bother you?"

"No, no, not at all—rather, it's just...it didn't bother _you_?" Fraser can barely contain his confused hope.

There's a significant pause before Ray turns in his seat and looks straight at him. "You mean 'cause Twoey's a guy?"

"No." Fraser's throat has gone dry, and he licks his lip nervously.

"No?" Ray smiles. "Then what?"

"He—I mean, she's—just so—"

 _Odd_ , Fraser wants to say.

"So...what, Frase? Tall? Blonde? Kind to animals?" Ray is still smiling, but now there is an edge beneath.

Fraser cringes and says it. "Odd, Ray. She's a little odd." His face flames, but he doesn't look away from Ray's eyes, which seem strangely challenging.

"Hey, we're all freaks on this bus," Ray says, and the statement rings momentarily, as if the GTO has suddenly become an acoustic chamber.

Ray turns away and put his keys in the ignition, that faint smile still on his face.

 _We're all freaks on this bus._ How strangely appropriate, Fraser thinks. How perfectly _a propos_. Except Ray isn't a freak, not like Fraser is, or like Ms. Two Pins, whose poodle skirt was a different shade of sky blue as her eye-shadow, both appalling.

Ray is too silent as he drives them back toward the Consulate. Fraser tries to make amends. "I meant no criticism of Ms. Two Pins, Ray. She's very...colorful."

Ray grunts.

"And she is very bold in choosing an E-cup. I remember when I dressed as a woman—"

The GTO fishtails to a halt at the stoplight, and Fraser is forced to brace himself against the dash.

"Come again?" Ray says dangerously. The growl of the engine seems to echo his tone.

Fraser's heart thumps hard, once. "On a case. At St. Fortunata's School for Girls."

"And you were in drag?" Ray sounds disbelieving.

"Yes. Although I chose a C-cup, myself. I'm afraid I don't have Ms. Two Pins' derring-do."

Silence greets his revelation.

"Ray.

"Ray.

"The light, Ray. It's green."

Ray shakes his head and steps on the accelerator. He drives on without saying anything. Fraser feels the usual small cringe inside. He's spoken stupidly again. He never seems to know any better.

Ray's voice interrupts his self-castigation. "I wouldn't, um, mind...seeing that."

"What?" They are nearing the Consulate now, and Dief's tail thumps against the upholstery as if he is aware that dinner is in close proximity.

"The...dress thing. You in a dress."

"I—what?" Lunacy. Ray is speaking lunacy.

"Yeah." Ray warms to the subject. "I wanna see it. Do you still have it?"

"I'm...I don't think—would you really?" Fraser is breathless.

"Hell, yes."

"But...why?"

Ray pulls over to the curb in front of the Consulate and shuts off the engine before replying. "It's, I guess, the contrast, you know? Mr. Perfect in a dress."

"I'm not perfect, Ray," Fraser says shortly. He pushes open his door and gets out, pulling the chair forward for Dief, who goes running around the side of the Consulate to find his favorite bush.

Ray gets out and follows Fraser, his steps an agitated beat at Fraser's side. "Oh, I know that, Fraser. Boy, do I know that. But this—it'd be like visual proof. You'd be on the other side. With the rest us."

 _The rest of us?_ Fraser shakes his head, automatically taking the key from his pouch and opening the Consulate doors. Ray crowds in behind him, pushing him in.

Leaving the door open for Dief, Fraser walks to the kitchen and pours a bowl of kibble.

"Well? Will you?" Ray bends down for Dief's water bowl to fill it at the tap.

Fraser evades the question. "What did you mean by being 'on the other side with us'?"

"You know what I meant." Ray's face is hard.

"I don't. You're not—"

"Just say you'll do it, okay? Just do it."

"All right, Ray," Fraser finds himself saying, somewhat shocked by his capitulation. But it's no difficult thing. He wore the dress for days for Ray Vecchio, for the case. For the girls, who were oddly trusting and honest with Fraser as a woman.

As a man, he inspires different reactions, ones that make him uncomfortable at best.

"Really? You'll put it on for me? Do the whole thing?" Ray's whipcord body is bowed, tense.

The whole situation is completely unreal. "Yes. Except, I'm sorry to say I don't believe I'm in possession of any panty hose."

Ray's face breaks into a disbelieving smile.

"Perhaps you could order us in some food while I—" Fraser waves toward the hallway.

"Yeah! Yeah, okay."

Dief comes charging in just as he is walking out of the kitchen, so Fraser sidetracks to the front door and locks it shut. On the way to his office he tries to remember in which box he'd last seen his make-up kit. He remembers being utterly appalled at the high cost of cosmetics. As if one form of oppression begot another.

He closes the office door gently behind him and starts gathering items—the flat-heeled shoes and the one deep red dress he retained from his collection, uncertain at the time whether it was mere nostalgia that prompted him. It's still hanging in the closet next to the blue uniform he hardly ever wears.

In the bottom box by the closet he finds the auburn wig, the black slip and bra, the "falsies", and the cosmetics. He can hear Ray's muffled voice down the hallway, perhaps speaking to Diefenbaker, perhaps calling in a pizza order.

Fraser strips completely and dons the bra. This feels so strange. He's still not sure why Ray is asking it of him. Proof, he said. Of what? Friendship? It doesn't matter. That Ray asked is the only reason Fraser needs.

He slips the falsies into the bra cups and then pulls the slip over his head, followed by the red dress with its high collar. The thin materials slip and shift against his naked groin.

Fraser sits and applies the eyeliner, the action bringing back in full his memory of doing this for Ray Vecchio. Fraser wonders if Ray's initial reaction will be less...aghast than the other Ray's. Fraser is quite aware he makes a most ridiculous woman.

Lipstick, rouge, and then the wig. The shoes are difficult to slip on without the pantyhose, but he manages. He hadn't needed to shave more than once the last time—his legs are almost hairless. He supposes this will have to do.

Now he has to face Ray.

Fraser takes one last look in the mirror. He has done it as well as he could. Perhaps now Ray will explain why this was necessary.

The kitchen is dark, so Fraser turns toward the parlor. Ray is seated on the couch, his eyes on the silent, flickering television screen. He must be aware of Fraser's entrance, but for a long moment he doesn't look up. Fraser is about to speak when Ray lifts his head and then rises slowly.

"Wow. You really did it." Rays usually half-dipped eyes are wide and a little surprised.

"I did say I would," Fraser says nervously.

"And a Mountie always keeps his promises." But Ray's voice is distracted as his eyes travel up and down Fraser's dress. Fraser's skin itches, buzzes, as if Ray's gaze were touching him physically. Fraser swallows.

"Ray..."

Ray tilts his head and slouches toward him. "That's not the right color, that wig—" He reaches up and pulls off Fraser's wig, tossing it toward the small sofa where it almost lands on a startled Diefenbaker. Dief makes a disgruntled noise and wanders off toward the hallway.

"That's better," Ray says, his tone strange. He lifts his hand as if to touch Fraser's hair, but backs off. "The dress is wrong, too," he says thoughtfully. "You look like a lawyer or something." He licks his lips. "You wearing anything underneath?"

Fraser nods dumbly.

"Take off the dress." The challenge is back in Ray's voice.

Fraser finds himself complying without thought. His mind is completely vacant as he unfastens the buttons and steps out of the dress, then kicks off his shoes. He's still trapped by Ray's eyes, which have grown dark.

"Yeah, that's it." Ray takes a halting step forward, then another, until they are close, until Fraser can feel the heat of Ray's body through his slip, tightening his groin. Ray lifts his hand and runs it through Fraser's hair, and Fraser has to stifle a moan as his scalp shivers in welcome. Then Ray's fingers move to Fraser's face, a finger brushing under one of Fraser's eyelids, then the other. Ray draws back, looks at the smear of black eyeliner on his finger and then raises his eyes again.

"You look so hot like this," Ray says. "You look—you're—wait—" He slides his fingers under the top of Fraser's slip and pulls out the false breasts, dropping them to the side. Then he brushes his fingers back and forth at the seam of silk and skin.

"Ray. God." The hum in Fraser's blood is almost unbearable.

"You're a freak," Ray whispers. "You're a freak, just like me."

Fraser can't take any more. He leans forward, and he can hear Ray groan even before their lips meet, even before Ray's tongue swipes across Fraser's sticky lips and plunges past them into Fraser's mouth, bringing with it the taste of lip gloss, of Ray—Ray in his mouth, Ray's hands on Fraser's hips, hot through the silk.

Then Ray is pushing him back toward the couch, pushing him down, down, and Fraser falls, bringing Ray with him, pulling Ray's lean body on top of him.

"I'm a freak," Fraser says between kisses, against the rough stubble of Ray's cheek, into the hollow below Ray's ear. "I'm a freak, Ray, do you understand?"

Ray mumbles an affirmative, but Fraser holds his head away, holds Ray's head between his palms and stares, willing Ray to understand.

"I want you to...I want you to have me, I want you to take me, use me—"

"Yes, Fraser. Jesus—" Ray kisses him sloppily and batters against him, his hips plunging down, his erection burning against Fraser's silk-covered groin. "Use you, use _me_ —"

"Yes." Fraser fumbles at the fly of Ray's jeans, freeing him, pushing the cloth down until his hands are filled with Ray's firm buttocks. Ray's erection is wetting the silk between them; Fraser can feel it—the slick heat of Ray's hardness. Fraser slips his fingers into the crease between Ray's cheeks, and Ray moans loudly, bringing his hand back and forcing Fraser's fingers deeper, until the opening to Ray's body is beneath his fingertips.

Fraser massages the ring of muscle and Ray gasps. "Yeah, ohhhh, yeah," he groans as he slams down hard, and suddenly there is wetness between them, and Ray's muscles are clenching under his hands, and the knowledge that Fraser has brought Ray to this is more than he can bear—Fraser rubs himself against the slide of wet silk and climaxes in a dizzying pulse. He hears Ray murmuring encouragement as his orgasm shakes him, and for a moment Fraser cannot breathe. He has wanted this so much. And now he has allowed himself to have it. Ray has given it to him.

"I want...I want..." Ray is mumbling against his neck.

"Anything," Fraser whispers. "You can have anything, Ray—"

"Your cock. I want to suck your cock." Ray's voice shivers down Fraser's spine. "I want you to talk dirty to me. I want you to put—to put your hand in me. I want you to—"

"Yes," Fraser hisses. "I want to f-fuck you."

"Oh, yeah," Ray moans. "I want to cuff you—"

"Oh, God."

"I want to make you wait for it."

"Make me wait—"

"I want to kiss you—" Ray puts the words into deed, and licks Fraser's lips before kissing him deeply, his tongue heavy and warm in Fraser's mouth.

When he pulls away, Fraser is almost blind. He can't see anything but Ray's eyes, Ray's beautiful, reddened lips.

"Ray. I want to...love you."

Ray laughs, a joyous sound. "Well, I dunno, Fraser, that sounds kind of kinky."

"Ah."

"I mean, don't get weird on me, buddy."

"I'm sorry if I offended your sensibilities, Ray." Fraser tries hard, but his face won't behave; he can't erase the smile he feels lifting his cheeks.

"Funny man."

"Freak."

"Now you're getting it," Ray says, and he drops his head for more kisses, interrupting himself to murmur obscene things against Fraser's lips, which won't stop smiling, smiling.

  
....................  
2008.01.25


End file.
